Coruscate
by ColorM
Summary: There are moments in life where lights that blind don't just come from the stars or the sun. The most brilliant lights come from within. Kim x Jerry.
1. Reading

**AN:**

I've been wishing to write some KERRY for a while. I mean, there are many fics for them on here, well, a few, but I've wanted to write something for a couple of months. I also wanted it to be something fun, something I could continue, but without restrictions, so this is what I whipped up.

This is a verb series, so it could be any word that is moving or has to do with moving. It usually ends in 'ing', doesn't have to, but it usually does. Anyway, what makes this different from previous works is that I'm allowing requests! The prompt could be a verb or an action and if you send it through the reviews or preferably PM inbox, I'll do it as soon as possible. I just really wanted to do something different, but continuous and something that allowed readers to participate.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Requests in the reviews or PM inbox.

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**I. reading**

Jerry is vivacious; he can never stay still for too long. He hops, he talks, and he eats just to avoid the drawl of time.

Kim knows that. She knows that when he's sitting still, quiet, that he's unravelling and it's happening before her. She knows that when he opens a book, just slightly, that his layers are more diverse than they appear. He's more than what everyone gives him.

It's no wonder she sees him differently, sees him glow a little, when he opens a book and his eyes are tied infinitely, because he never does that. He never just sits and reads. She's captivated on the cynosure activity and sees something distinctive. Kim sees something distinctive than the day before or the morning earlier. His silence is rare, almost vulnerable and she sees him differently. He flickers light blindingly in her eyes and sometimes that's why she stares so much. She stares because it's unusual, peculiar, and odd, but beautiful all at once. No one ever gets to see him in that light, in his light.

Jerry Martinez. Reading.

The pages are twirled in his fingers, brown eyes entranced passionately, as he read every letter that passed like a movie reel. Jerry never looks up or notices her eyes. He reads intently and shuffles once the position he's sitting in grows tedious. Occasionally, he slides down the chair and places the book on a nearby table, but it never really happens. He usually sits there, hair flat, bedridden, and sock dangling off his feet, with not a knowledge of her existence. His words are long gone and his mind with no remembrance of time. He just sits there with the clothes he slept in—black long-sleeve accompanied with grey sweatpants—zero attention focused on the girl before him.

She smiles. "What are you reading?"

"A book." He mumbles, scratching his head dismissively. She'd be offended, but it never happens often. She's usually the focus, the "princess of his novella" or something; her defense is never tarnished.

Kim sits up from her bed—hair propped up in a bun, with her plaid pajamas falling off her hip—and squeezes herself in the chair with him. He never says anything, because his attention is in absolute disappearance from her, but his head falls on her shoulder, almost always, inevitably. She lets the feel of his hair against her skin—warm, soft—calm her senses.

She lets the moment curl her in softly.

"Man, I'm hungry."

Of course. Kim sighs.

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**II. reading**

Kim is a very competitive girl. She gets motivated by just a simple negative outburst. She gets bored quickly without motivation or stimulation of that kind. Challenges set out, that are easy for the blonde, are always something that dry out pretty fast for her. It's a difficult demand for Jerry.

However, when she is not prowling on the edge for competition, she can be a very quiet girl.

He sees her reading, her glasses sliding from her nose, and he feels all tingly, electric inside. The bottom of his stomach swirls with the effect of seeing her so... differently, that he sees a light and feels the warmth string him in. There's so much variation than the previous girl, who fished for dry cereal to fix her hunger, and the girl who reads, because there's not much to do and the book appears enthralling. It's something serene and beautiful—she's beautiful.

He hates reading, very much so, but it happens to him more than usual. He reads and reads, but there's not much interest set. He's just bored and the book seems like a movie to him once he scrunched his eyes enough, the cover effaced with vibrant hues of red, purple, blue, and black.

He looks up from the book at her.

She's focused, eyes planted on the words across the book. Her hands are holding the pages, flipping another one every two minutes. The boy who stares feels a smile tweak his face. She's so oblivious to his staring that he feels amused, almost daring. Kim gets vexed, when he stares at her for too long, it makes her uncomfortable. Yet, as the book lies in her petite, red painted fingers, she flips and flips and never notices his eyes. Her legs are housed by jeans and her feet are cladded in fuzzy pink boots. The pink shirt clings to her stomach under the thick blue sweater that falls amongst the floor and Jerry stares in awe. He takes all of the glimpses he can get, knowing that this would be the only time he'll get to stare without question. She just won't believe that he stares, because she's beautiful.

He grins, almost resembling a leprechaun. "Whatcha reading?"

"A book." She responds, smiling deviously.

He catches the gesture and quickly understands why she did it. It doesn't take long for him to lightly punch her legs in response. She squeals like a girl, which she hardly does, before she punches him harshly on his arm. The war commences and it's brief before the two are tackling each other and Jerry begins screaming just as loud. Their limbs tied and feet underneath each other, Kim struggles to keep her book in her hand. Jerry's quick to her weaknesses, he loves her for them, so extends his tongue and aims for the arm with the book.

"No!" She giggles angrily, her laughter beyond the control of her anger.

"Yes!" Jerry urges, his tongue close to her arm.

Unlike Kim, Jerry never lets her finish reading. Kim thinks it's because he lives to torment her and Jerry says it's because he loves her.

Same thing, if you think about it.


	2. Repairing

**AN: **

Okay, here is the new chapter. I'll be posting once a week, or at least trying to. This was supposed to be up by Sunday, so yeah.

As you can see, it's slightly, only slightly longer than the other one. I incorporated just a bit more dialogue for this one, than I probably will for the next one, so just enjoy the verbal fluff.

Send me a prompt if you'd like to see your idea here! Review or PM inbox!

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**Reviews Response:**

**Shakeema28 - It's kind of nice encountering a Kick fan who enjoys Kerry all the same. It's also an ego booster to know they enjoyed your story, haha. Thank you for reading though, you're so kind! **

**WildCitrusSunflower - Thank you for the prompt and the very generous review. You are literally such an amazing follower to all my stories. I've gotta literally send you roses for that. This story does stand as a living together, older kind of thing, so yeah. As you can see, this chapter is your prompt: fixing, only I altered the name to fit more specifically on the region you were talking of. Also, I think everybody's gotta have a Jerry headcanon on repairing, it just makes too much sense.**

**krstic - Thank you so much! You guys always make me feel better and more skillful than I actually am with all this generosity and loyalty to my stories, which ever they are. I want to thank you just for that, your reviews make me so giddy like a kid, haha. Anywho, the next chapter I'll do sleeping or cooking, seeing as I just finished this one. Hopefully, you'll like it.**

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**I. repairing**

Jerry believes in his girl. He does.

She's pretty determined, wether she's ignorant on the subject or not. She fixes what she can and vouches for those who can't. It's a matter of predictability when it comes to her stubborn and ambitious sense of thinking, but she doesn't really mind that when she's succeeded at what she's done. She can do anything she puts her mind to—karate, cooking—or at least attempting to—learning and all the latter. It only bothers her intensively, he notices, when someone asks or the time comes for reparations.

She's awful at repairing.

Her hands are too fast and lack caution. The fingernails are tinted in vibrant colors that always harmonize with her clothing, they get soaked in gasoline or sink grime and he sees the pout that forms on her face when it does. She's meant to sneak in on attacks, hop on a foot and do a high kick, or punch a gut in the midst of a fight. Kim doesn't know how to keep her hand on a handle, while tinkering with another one in her right. She doesn't know how to hold something tight, keeping sure that the water still passes through. It's different, difficult for her. The mere problem is that so many people think it's because she's a girl.

Kim is fantastic, gender aside, at what she does. Jerry knows this. She can beat anyone in a fight, excluding Jack, and do so without breaking a nail. She's just terrible at anything that has to do with appliances.

"Kim. Chica." He starts and ends, a cereal bowl in his palm. He has a mouth full of Lucky Charms and a spoon in his right hand. The words he rolls off his tongue are incoherent, yet he knows they agitate Kim even further. "Don't break the pipe."

As always, the girl feels underestimated. She shouts, her exhaustion and annoyance apparent. "SHUT UP, JERRY!"

Jerry jolts. His cereal spills onto his fingers. "Wha!—I didn't even say anything! I just—don't break the pipe. Geez, girl, relax."

"I am relaxed!" She shouts back, her vexation causing tension.

Her hands fixate on the large pipe coated in silver. It's arranged in a straight angle and is brimmed with food and liquids that Kim hardly wants to take a look at, atop cleaning products and old sponges. Gradually, she turns the large drain in her hand and uses her left to help herself lean. It's tough and resistant against her force, she grumbles as it fights in her palms. There's this slight gap in between the connection of the pipe and another silver drain in the crook of her hand, but it doesn't show any success towards her work. The pipe is still resistant, no matter the direction she tries to turn to. It's worse than actually unclogging a drain and cleaning it over with. It makes no gesture that it's loosening and it's rough to her hands. She'd complain, but she realizes she wanted to do this. She was set out to fixing the pipe arranged before her and now she has to finish the job.

"Just relax girl, you can do it." He says, kicking her lightly, almost teasingly on the back. She softens at this.

Jerry watches her slow down. It's beauty at its finest.

She breathes in heavily. Her back straightens and her shoulders release from their tension. The hands on the pipe loosen slightly, but never lose the strength she's placed on them. It's gradual, but eventually, the pipe unscrews beneath her palm and she jumps onto her feet from the excitement.

He sees her glow with the sweat slick on her face. Everything slows down for a minute. She smiles and the edge of her mouth curls at the corner. Her eyes swirl brown and big, Jerry forgets to breathe. He feels beyond lucky—not in regards to her reparations skills and temper—because she is the most beautiful thing in the world.

"I did it!" Her voice heightens in pitch, as she claps her hands. Kim, ecstatic, heads towards Jerry and wraps her arm around his neck in rejoice. She never notices how giddy she is about it until he brings it up later, under the sheets. Nevertheless, he holds his bowl far from her and wraps his other hand around her lean frame. She smells like toilet water.

He's not telling her that, of course. He's not an idiot.

Despite the success, the goal is busted once all the food in the grain system unclogs onto the kitchen floor. Kim stares back with eyes that could melt metal with one glance.

"Well," he begins, taking the bowl with him as he walks, "_te dige_ not to break the pipe. I'm not cleaning that up."

"JERRY!"

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**II. repairing**

Jerry is slow. Kim can't disagree with that.

He can be very slow when it comes to certain things. It isn't necessarily a rare thing, but his intelligence hardly lacks, most of the time, when he's doing his college packets. Unlike in the morning, when he gets up and hits every other wall in the apartment. She worries that it might be the reason he gets even slower and his IQ drops, but it hardly matters when he gets right back on his feet after a few minutes and starts talking of his classes last night. Or after he's fallen out of bed and his body lies tangled in sheets she's trying to recover in her hands. He groans from the tumble, a gesture that he hasn't lost his actual sense from falling nearly all the time, and Kim flaps back onto the bed with not a considerate thought in mind.

However, Jerry is not stupid. Slow and stupid are two different things and Kim likes to prove them once they're said or written.

Jerry is a clever little genius, especially when it comes to appliances and cars and things related to it.

He sticks his head under a car and his IQ heightens by 99 points. She's forced to stare at him in awe, every time he starts talking about car parts or tools she's never heard of. Her ignorance on a scale that feels far too offensive for her ego. Carburetors and engines—ramblings of his large mouth—become things she eventually grows tired of hearing day on and day forth.

Yet, she loves seeing him so..._not slow_?

He lowers himself underneath the car, a sleeveless t-shirt strewn on his lean frame. His back glistens with sweat and oil, Kim pretends not to blush or totally get thrown under the loop of his appearance. She stares at him, when he gets out from underneath, and moves towards the front of the car. His jeans are slack on his hips and his hair is luminous with probable grime. He has oil splattered on sides of his face, which carries a determined, strenuous gaze. He's never been messier or dirtier, yet Kim almost feels like he's coruscating with all of this grime stuck on his skin, drying into crusty pigments of filth.

He shines better than any of the royalty she's encountered.

"Kim," he starts, his voice raspy, "pass me the wrench."

Kim knows that he's dedicated and motivated. She knows that he's too submerged in his work to notice if he's thirsty. It's almost a crazy thought, in the hot, blinding sun that plasters in the sky, that he's not in heat or currently burning under that car. It's more than obvious that his thirst is stinging his tongue and making it hard to focus. A wrench may be the only thing he makes it clear that he wants—as everything in life—but it is definitely far off from what he's probably missing and needing at the moment.

She makes a quick run to grab a cold, icy cup of water and a heavy wrench that lays on the corner of the tool cabinet. Her legs move rapidly, brisk towards the kitchen, though he doesn't notice that her presence is not there. After all, Jerry is still the slow guy from just one hour ago, who doesn't seem to notice that his pants are inside out.

"Jerry." She coos sarcastically.

"Yeah? Is it the wrench?" He sticks his head out, the car tip hitting his forehead. Oil strewn across his poignant cheekbones, as he smiles glisteningly under the sun.

"Here."

She extends the cup of water, placing the wrench on the floor. Jerry grabs at the glass desperately, gulping the tiny cup in an instant. His mouth edges gleam lightly from the water that rims the glass. Kim quickly leans on her calves to move closer to the ground beside him to grab the cup gently from his hand. He starts again, the black-streaked cheekbones rising as he talks. "Thanks Kim."

He smears the water off his face and presses a quick, gentle kiss on her left cheek. _Fireworks on the Fourth of July all over again_. She feels the gasoline streaks slide against her face as he does, and even as the notion is slightly filthy, she smiles.

"I love you." He murmers, grabbing the back of her neck for just one more kiss. The gasoline tints her cheeks like ketchup again. Kim ignores the feeling in the bliss of the kiss, her stomach tingling and toes curling.

If he makes her feel good, she's okay with a little grime. However, he better not try anything fancy after.

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**AN:**

As you know, you can request a prompt in the review or PM inbox and I will get to it. I really love this idea so much and you guys seem to too, so don't be scared and send some in. Also, thank you for the reviews and for reading!

Until next week (_probably_).


	3. Sleeping

**AN: **

I said a week and it's been two. I'm so sorry. I just couldn't force myself to write and usually it comes out awful if I do.

Anyway, here's the one krstic requested! It's not as great as I thought it would be, but as a writer, it's okay to have some writings you're not proud of. We're all learning and growing, especially from our mistakes, never be disappointed in yourself. Every single work is as important as the other, no matter how "good" or "bad" it is. It's you in progress, so value it very much.

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**Review Responses:**

**3 just a little paranoid 3 - Thank you so much for this review! I literally read it like ten times and squealed the twelfth time, haha. It's a goal to be all of those things and you telling me that I am has made me feel accomplished.**

**Allison Diamond - Thank you for telling me so! I really appreciate these constructive critiques. It's caring, polite, and makes me really pay mind to my mistakes, so thank you.**

**WildCitrusSunflower - Thank you! Thank you! You're super awesome! You're singing prompt is on my list, so don't be worried that I'm ignoring you. I have to do that one, it's just the ideal prompt. **

**krstic - Thank you! This is such a motivation to anything I do. You're so kind, goodness! **

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**I. sleeping**

Sometimes, Kim awakes in the middle of the night.

She often awakes to the most nicest moments, when the night is just beginning and no one is opening a lid yet. The harsh rain clatters on the thin window sill, beneath the white cloth curtain that hangs elegantly across, while she lies underneath the covers. Her eyes still flutter fuzzily, trying to grasp the surroundings. Everything is so calm, different from when the day breaks through the window. She meets vision with nothing, for the darkness prevents any understanding of her exterior. She only catches what the moon illuminates across the wall of her room: the wall that lies opposite her and the boy that lies in front of her.

Jerry's body resembles something alike mountains, beneath her fingers, against the stars. She revels in the night and in the loneliness, isolation. Jerry doesn't speak here; he can't brag if she looks at him with her gazing eyes or strokes his hair for three hours. He's unresponsive to her affectionate gestures and she'd rather not hear his mouth anyway.

His breath shoots softly out of his nose as she presses a finger against the back of his head.

Kim moves softly through his short, brown hair. The strands fall against the tip of her fingers, between the spaces of her hands. She tucks it in her palm and loses it, from just how delicately feathery it is, before she moves again inside of his hair for more strands. She feels his skin, just below the neck, rub against her knuckles as she drags each strand down for another soft tug. The brown, sleek hair amidst her finger prickling her skin, before she lets it go. Just as she brought another down into her palm, for a moment as the hair nested, her fist moves towards the hair settled at the top, curve of his head. More strands, much thicker gravel through her rough fingers. She lies lazy, stroking, tugging at his hair, as she fights with her blurry pupils telling her of something else that her body needs. She just wants a few more minutes tugging at his hair and she'll shut her eyes for good. The feel of his hair, of his stupid conditioner that works better than hers, always makes her fall asleep when she's woken up and she can't sleep. It makes her feel at ease.

Removing her hand slowly, to her dismay, she moves it to his side.

Kim slides her arm through his, briefly knocking her elbow and his in the process. She tangles her small fingers through his large ones, and lets her head fall onto the pillow below her. The arm moves underneath his, falling into the warmth of his skin, and she tries to count all the reasons he'll pick at her a little tomorrow. She tries to count why he always picks at her the day after. It's not like she can control it, she just can't help that he's warm. Or that he has really soft hair.

One: he loves her.

Two: he loves knowing that she, unfortunately, loves him.

Three: he loves seeing her mad.

Four: why is she doing this?

Five: she falls to bed and never really understands this list until the next midnight awakening.

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**II. sleeping**

Jerry wakes up to her long arms around him.

He turns over to his side and gazes at the young girl asleep. Her blue tank top hanging loose on her forearm, the strap falling across her soft shoulder. Jerry took it in his fingers and moved it back onto the crook of her neck, where his fingers settled for a while. The length of her golden hair nestled on it, as she snored loudly.

He found it incredibly funny that she appeared graceful and majestic, but the sounds she transmitted said otherwise. He really believed there was some kind an ape stuck inside of her. She just can't possibly snore that loud without being from monstrous descent. Jerry remembered to tell her this later, before baking a few of his Grandma's cookies to calm her down.

Softly, she shuffles closer to him, fingers clamping around his back tightly. He smirked, before he gently moved his fingers to her cheek. The skin was soft and sloped over to her eyes with morning light that loomed over it. He couldn't disagree that she was insanely beautiful. He could look at her all day.

However, the sun wouldn't always shine in the sky. He would have to wake her up soon.

She moaned lightly, as he thought, and turned to the window. Jerry backed slightly away, not in want of her sleep to be disrupted. He knew that she was kind of an ape when she woke up angry, her fists would clench, eyebrows furrow, words probably too mean, snark to say. He liked her better asleep. She was calm, vulnerable, most of all, quiet. Her hair fell to the sheets warped around the bed and her neck sloped like the bottom of a steep hill. He looked at it for a moment, the delicacy, vulnerability, before he pressed his hand on her cheek tenderly. The choice of words on what to say to her, something that didn't get her irritated, rolled through his mind. He knew that he could say something sweet and still she'd be on her highest nerve, just because she preferred sleep more than anything. Jerry had to think about something that would not bother her to wake up for.

Oh, but that was hardly possible anyway—sleep was like Jerry to her, if not for the swag he had almost emitting off him. He had to think of something else to get her to turn around and face him.

"_Kim_." He cooed, as he poked the back of her shoulder.

She shuffled tiredly.

"_Kim_." He tried again.

Nothing.

"_Kim_!" The boy shouted, his vocal cords lightly shook.

Nothing.

"_KIM_!"

The girl shook into awakening, the creases between her eyebrows evident. Swirls of brown irritability stating at him, while her hair fizzled in the air messily. He had a minute to do some explaining. He knew that already, she was visibly angry and it took no second guessing. Her stance had moved off the bed onto a sitting position that possibly scared Jerry slightly. She was an ape in disguise.

"I'm—_uh_—making blueberry pancakes." He quickly covered, while his hands were high up in surrender. The augmentation of his own eyes increased dramatically.

She looked at him for a moment, anger and all. Her brown eyes still lost in her surroundings, holding a hardened gaze at the man before her. The light in the room now, the man sitting across from her, the words he's just told her falling out of his lips, and the location she is now in was all processing in her mind. Once she unlocked her arms from the hold against her chest, she moved off of the bed quietly towards the door. Pale, white walls reflected against the blue shirt and black sweatpants she had on. Her feet padded softly on the ground around the room, before she turned to mutter him softly, with the terrible bed head of an ape. "I'm still angry. _Humph_."

Jerry just laughed.


	4. Cooking

**AN: **

I tried to finish it yesterday, but today seemed to ring a better deadline for my procrastination.

Anyway, I have one prompt from this and then I have no more prompts. Send some in and I will try to get to them. They could be anything from dancing to crying, I don't know. I'm up for anything you guys want me to write. Requests are my story guides, so send them in.

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**Review Responses:**

**krstic - Thank you! I just very much dislike when authors hold themselves on pedestals and don't realize how much of a giant part readers play in their stories. You, all the others, and those who even glance at my stories are very important to me. Therefore, thank you!**

**Shakeema28 - Thank you! It's very important for the characters to stay intact, and funny, as simple as it is, is very hard to mold into the story. I try my best to get that in there, so thank you.**

**Maddyliza1234 - Thank you! I love humor, especially JerryKim kind, so I always try my hardest to incorporate that in every story I write. Anyway, in answer to your question: yes, they are living together in the future. However, I haven't settled if they're married yet. I don't know if I want to.**

**Allison Diamond - You don't know how helpful you are, so thank you! Thank you! Thank you! I tried my best to refrain from all of the usual errors that I do in my stories, and following your corrections. Criticism, although this isn't necessarily it, is always welcomed, especially from you. If you see anything else wrong here, please let me know. Thank you.**

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**I. cooking**

"I'm trying, _alright_!?"

The vociferous statement hits Jerry's ears from all across the hallway. His own sigh matching hers, as he takes into consideration the many times she's said that before disaster.

He knows and understands that she's not good at everything—no one is. However, she doesn't have to be so _incompetent_ at it. It's like she purposely burns a whole chicken, or their kitchen, just to prove a ridiculous point about how terrible she is, nevertheless Jerry never gives up. It's not his belief that someone isn't good at cooking. Everyone _can_ be good at it, with a little practice, learning, and precision. His own little sister, who's _thirteen_ years old, knows how to make rice—thanks to Jerry—and can make a mean _arroz__ con __pollo_. Therefore, it is _kind of_ a fact that anyone can be good at cooking. Kim doesn't see eye to eye with him about it, because she claims that the route to all of these problems is that she's just incapable, but you _can_ be good at cooking. She c_an_ be good at cooking.

Kim just doesn't want to be.

"Kim," he softly says, "how many times do I need to tell you?"

His feet pad against the wood floors, as he walks towards the kitchen. Kim catches the socks on his feet, tenderness of his skin, and exhaustion in his eyes. Instantly, she feels immensely guilty and angry of her lacking skills in the kitchen, but remembers that he's the one who believes she_ can_ learn to cook. It's no surprise that she burns things.

"What?" She frowns at him, eyes weighing from the guilt.

"Don't get frustrated," he replies, with a softness even she can't retort to. Jerry has always been patient at things she could never be—cooking, repairing, _or even_ dancing. She finds it hard to get so irritable around someone with such patience; her mother believes that to be the reason that he's good for her. (_"He's delicate, Kim. He's got the hands of a lover, not a fighter. Keep him. He's good for you," she had whispered, with eyes that knew of struggles she'd never come across of.) _Kim always appreciates the small tidbits of Jerry that calm her down. It's just harder to get angry, if she's going to hate the outcome of her rampage. Moving her eyes away from his, she throws her head in slight guilt and major discouragement.

"Kim," he starts again, "practice makes perfect, patience makes precision."

She doesn't reply with anything other than a grumble. Her eyebrows squeezing, while the creases in between grow prominent. She really hates cooking, more than repairing, or perhaps, in the same amount. It's not like she wants to burn every single thing that clatters onto the stove, it just happens. She just fumbles here and there, forgetting how much time it's been, or if she even put oil, and then the whole pan burns. It's not like a hobby or anything; if she could she'd avoid it.

"_Chica_," he coaxes, like a slithering snake, "_yo creo en ti. _I believe in you."

He stares with these big eyes of monstrously genuine faith. The once swaying eyes he held disappearing into tenaciousness as he spoke. Kim finds her own determination to collapse on the couch failing. He believes in her and not only that, but he's never giving up. _How is she supposed to go around not trying, _just_ for him?_

"_Fine_," she grumbles. Her eyes roll exaggeratedly and she hates everything, but she's trying, f_or him_.

However, that hardly matters when the chicken fries into dark black coal a few minutes later. It sticks to the pan and leaves Jerry spending another fifty dollars for a new one. She puffs out in exhaustion, slightly annoyed that this is happening again, but even more because of his thick skull. She knew it was going burn, but she saw that look in his eyes and ignored it. She saw that he believed in her and cooked anyway. _Look where it got her. _The regret tugs at her chest every few seconds and she remembers that big black thing on that pan is hers. Jerry, who is still at fault for all of this, isn't even capable of burning a thing. It discourages her greatly, but she paints an empty expression onto her face. Her eyes never move from the once well chicken.

"Well," he starts again, with eyes as soft as marshmallows, "I didn't want chicken anyway."

Kim tries her best not to smile, and settles on punching him lightly on the shoulder instead.

_He's too good for her sometimes._

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**II. cooking**

_Jerry has to be the most obnoxious guy ever_. He's a great dancer, fixes anything in the world, and now an amazing cook.

Kim finds herself slightly angry at these measures.

It's not just that he can cook. He can name every single spice in their counter, along with their specific tastes. He uses every utensil for something in every meal and surprises her that it was even existent. He knows every recipe in every cookbook she's ever bought him—_yes_, she buys him cookbooks—and makes it easily without the instructions. He, without any help from anyone, can make foods from all over the world in their kitchen with things from their kitchen. Therefore, it's not just that he can cook. It's that he's a_ freaking_ cook legend.

She hates him. He makes amazing things and easily makes her melt with just that. It's not fair.

When he cooks, it's like waiting for a video to load for over an hour. She sits at the edge of the couch, socks slipping off her toes, and hands fiddling anxiously. Her nose swarms with smells of spices that mix with impeccable harmony. Her skin slips into the warmth of the evaporation deriving from the stove. She's soundless, mentally grumbling at the time length it's taken him. Not a single thought rolls in her head that has nothing to do with his food, and she gets angry at just this notion. _Is it almost cooked? I wonder what it is. Is there going to be chicken? I really want chicken. Is it with ginger? God, he makes amazing ginger recipes. If it isn't with ginger I'm going to freak. Oh, who am I kidding? I'll eat it anyway. _At some point, she begins to realize how insanely obsessed and crazy she sounds, but even that doesn't stop the fascination.

She _really_ hates him.

Once the food is finished and the plates are placed onto the table, she runs like a starving child. Jerry smiles smugly, but surprisingly, because he knows that his food is her favorite thing.

The food is always delicious, _didn't she tell you that_? Gold chicken covered in a thick, gooey brown topping, sided with sliced potatoes that are excellently roasted. She eats moderately, never too quickly, just to savor the delight. It's something she won't be able to taste until he does it again, which rarely happens. He usually uses the same spices, or poultry, or grain, but a recipe is hardly repeated. It's a lip-licking, enticing thing that leaves Kim to grumble finally at the disappearance of it all once she's finished. She wishes she could replay the instant she placed the food into her mouth over and over again, but then that would give him the satisfaction of it all. She really hates letting him know it was delicious. H_ates_ it she tells you.

"Wow, Kim."

Her head lifts from the plate, meekly and embarrassed. Jerry returns a smile, slightly self-satisfied.

"It was okay," she replies, never giving in completely. She would tell him about all the wonders of his meal, but then she remembers that it's not like he isn't aware. Her mother already wants him to cook the next dinner with her dad and her, which should reveal all wonders of his talent in just the gesture.

"Really?" The boy eyes at her plate, hinting at the lie.

"Okay! It was amazing," she lifts from her chair, stomping her feet, "so don't—_don't_ look at me like that! It's not my fault you're cooking is so dang delicious."

"I mean it was all in the butter—"

"Oh, shut up," she says, before taking strides towards the hallway. Her steps louder than the last and resounding, they collide against the wood floors. He makes no motion to going after her, because there are dishes to clean and a table to unfix. However, he always remembers that she's angry and makes it up to her in the bedroom—_not like that_, _well, not _always—later on. He knows that she finds admitting things hard, especially when it might tarnish or offend her reputation as a hard-to-impress person. He just finds it fun to see all of that crumble when he makes a decent meal. It's like she's the girl that absolutely doesn't fall within the standards of anyone, but his.

_Just that—his ability to impress her every time—makes him smile crookedly._


End file.
